


Advanced Social Skills, or The Formerly-Brainwashed Assassins Club

by LizzieHarker



Series: A Comedy of Arrows [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Arrowsverse, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky and Clint meet, Clint has PTSD too, Gen, M/M, bucky has anxiety, the first gathering of the Formerly-Brainwashed Assassins Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 15:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11900337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: Bucky Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier, woke up from cryosleep and is working on dismantling the trigger words in his head with the help of his boyfriend, Steve Rogers.He's also in therapy for depression and anxiety, but you can't really blame the guy. It's been a hell of a century.No one really gets the whole "brainwashing" thing, anyway.Enter Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye.Because everyone loves a good origin story.





	Advanced Social Skills, or The Formerly-Brainwashed Assassins Club

Bucky hunched his shoulders, staying close to Steve. Leaving the apartment still wasn’t on his list of fun and easy things to do, but he wasn’t gonna get any better at it if he didn’t try. Steve had said they were going for coffee after Bucky’s therapy session and they were meeting up with the archer Bucky had known for all of twenty seconds before things went to hell with Steve’s friends. All Bucky knew about him was he’d had been on their side, no questions asked. “So what’s this guy’s deal?”

“Clint? He’s . . . well, he’s Clint,” Steve said. Very helpful. “I met him on my first mission with the Avengers.” Steve pursed his lips. There was something else to the story, but Steve continued. “He texted me after you came home, asked if you’d be up for hanging out.”

“Yeah, and I guess I am, but you didn’t say _why_.” Natalia—Natasha—had stopped by to see him after he’d settled in. He knew Sam asked Steve about him; Bucky assumed he’d been forgiven for the steering wheel thing. He’d replaced the car after all. 

Steve had that tiny crease between his brows that meant he was debating with himself. Bucky knew Steve would never risk harming him, but he hadn’t expected a simple question to be met with internal deliberation. “I think,” he began, holding the door open for him, “I think it’s better if Clint tells you himself.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw dropped when his gaze slid over the coffee board. Back in Brooklyn—well, 1930s Brooklyn—coffee had come in two flavors: overly strong or watered down. He remembered the Americano, but what the hell was a macchiato? He felt a tug at his arm as Steve pulled him forward. Of all the off-putting future shit . . . “Stevie? What the hell happened to coffee?”

“I’m not really sure, Buck. I was determined to try everything at first, but one time I got a spiced cold brew coffee thing and that was the end of my adventuring. There was enough sugar in there to keep the army. Tea is pretty safe. I’m gonna get a London Fog.” Bucky made his eyes big and stared until Steve explained. “Earl Grey tea, steamed milk.”

“Fancy.” Bucky looked at the board again. Was it even written in English? The hell was a venti?

A tall blond stepped up beside them, a lopsided smile on his face amid the collection of bruises and bandages. The archer. “Kinda daunting, I know.” He gave Bucky a once-over. “Can I order for you?”

“Uh, sure.”

He held his hand out to Steve. “Cap.”

“Clint,” Steve said, clasping the offered hand.

Bucky noticed the bright purple hearing aids tucked behind the guy’s ear and tried to silence the deadpan voice in his head that whispered _liability_. He seemed to get on just fine, even if someone had broken his nose. There was a matching hearing aid behind the other ear. Bucky hadn’t seen them during the fight. 

Of course not. If this guy had been an Avenger, he’d have combat-ready ones.

He let the blond step up to the counter. “I’ll have a grande London Fog, a venti flat white, and a grande two pump white chocolate mocha.” He paused, glanced at Bucky, and turned back to the barista. “Extra whip, please.”

“Clint, you didn’t have to buy for us,” Steve said.

The other blond shrugged. “I figure you owe me one, Cap, but I’m not calling it in for a coffee. Not a non-emergency coffee, anyway.” He rocked back on his heels as they stood at the other end of the counter, waiting.

Bucky leaned into Steve. He knew what was happening. Clint was letting Bucky read him, his posture open.

Steve slipped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You doing okay?”

He shook his head. So far, his limit for public spaces was about half and hour. Therapy had ended twenty minutes ago. “Anxious. I feel like people are staring.”

“I gotcha. You’re safe, sweetheart.” Steve took the coffee Clint offered him and Clint nodded toward a booth in the back. They settled in, and Bucky instantly felt better with his back to the wall, the exit in sight, and Steve on his right. Clint and Steve shifted, too. Bucky knew Steve well enough to know he was keeping an eye out, but Clint, seated across from him, relaxed in the same way Bucky did, checking his sight lines without added anxiety. 

So Clint was a sniper, too.

And he noticed Bucky’s noticing. He took a drink before offering Bucky his hand. “Hey. Clint Barton. Welcome to the Formerly-Brainwashed Assassins Club.”

Steve made a choking sound and nearly spit out his tea. Eyes watering, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, that was subtle.

“Bucky,” he answered, cautious. He shook Clint’s hand, brow furrowed. “Uh, thanks. For . . . you know.”

“Any time. ‘Course, I think I just cost myself that favor. Sorry, Cap.”

Steve waved him away, still vaguely horrified. Bucky hadn’t bolted though, so Steve took it in stride. Bucky studied Clint. He’d said “club.” 

Clint nodded, guessing his thoughts. “We’re kind of an exclusive group. The initiation process is a bitch and we don’t even get cool matching jackets or anything.”

He stared at his coffee. Bucky wanted to ask, but that felt intrusive. Nothing felt worse than revisiting what he remembered. Well, except remembering more. But then why else would Clint want to talk to him? He swallowed. “The Red Room? Like Natalia?”

“Norse God,” Clint answered. “What a sonuvabitch he was.” He rolled his eyes, but Bucky heard the shift in his tone, no longer carefree. “Worst week of my life. I can’t imagine seventy years.”

“Makes two of us, then,” Bucky answered. He cut a sharp look at Clint. “Wait, did you say ‘Norse God?’ Like Odin and valkyries and shit?” Because middle school mythology was such a useful thing to remember. Way to go, Barnes.

“Odin’s adopted asshole son, actually.”

“You’re telling me aliens _and_ gods are real.” Add that to him being a Russian assassin with a robotic arm. Bucky had like science fiction once. He glanced at Steve, uncertainty in his voice. “Are you sure I’m not dead? This seems like I’m dead and the afterlife is really fucked up.”

Steve shook his head. “Not dead, but the future is weird, Buck. I was pretty sure it was a hallucination, too.”

“How did a Norse God get here?”

Clint sighed, taking his turn to stare at his coffee. “I worked for SHIELD at the time. They conducted experiments with the Tesseract and it opened a door. Guess they didn’t realize doors open both ways.”

Bucky shuddered, a metallic tang filling the back of his throat. “Hydra made weapons from it during the war. That blue light vaporized men like they were nothing.”

Clint nodded, grim. “That same blue light made me murder my friends. Loki used it to control me with a tap to the chest. One minute I was me, the next I was in a tiny black and blue space with no way to stop what I was doing. Natasha brought me back. Cognitive recalibration.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “She hit me really hard in the head,” Clint said, the ghost of his grin returning. “I had just finished therapy when SHIELD fell apart. Cap called for backup and I came to help. Then I heard about you. I stayed outta the game until everything went down with the Avengers. Afterward, Cap talked about you all the time while you were asleep, and I thought maybe it’d help to know you’re not alone.”

Bucky made a sound that could have been a laugh if he wasn’t so bone tired all the time. He felt bad for Clint; no one should have their will taken from them. No one should be forced to be a weapon. Bucky touched his metal arm, hidden beneath his jacket. There used to a be a tiny white wing there. Now there was a red star he’d never asked for and didn’t want.

He knew this was a kindness, Clint sharing his experience. He should feel grateful. Clint didn’t have to talk to him. Clint didn’t have to be anywhere near him. In fact, Clint just sat there, sipping at his coffee as if they were all old friends spending an afternoon together. Two heroes and a mass murderer, having a grand time. He saw the way people looked at Steve, the moment they caught on to the secret of who he was. Clint blended in, the every man. Just enough of someone to be no one. And then there was Bucky, the messy hair and the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way too many people in a room made him skittish. A small part of him waited for the armored men, the guns pointed at his head and heart. 

Bucky blinked, realizing what bothered him. “You’re not afraid of me,” he said, staring at Clint, brow knit. He felt it like a crack, the off-balance shift of realizing Steve had been right: no one was looking at him. Bucky wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was just Bucky. He was normal, whatever that fuck that meant for him.

Clint snorted. “Hell no, man. You’re one of the best assassins ever. I’ve seen the World War II footage. Your range is incredible!”

Bucky glanced at Steve, completely baffled. Steve wore a tiny, knowing smile as he continued. “You don’t care who I am.”

“Were,” Clint corrected. “And nope. Do you like your mocha? It’s okay if you don’t. I was taking a guess, but I’m usually not wrong about coffee.”

Who was this guy? He took an experimental sip, then a deeper one. Holy shit, that was good. Stevie must have ratted him out for having a sweet tooth. “Barton, this is amazing.”

Clint lit up. “Knew it. Anything is better than a futzing Americano,” he said, his disdain evident.

For the first time in ages, Bucky felt a genuine laugh rise in his chest. Steve was still smiling at him as he pushed his chair back and rose.

“I’m gonna grab a snack. You guys want something?”

Bucky shook his head slightly. He could drink in public, but eating was still a challenge. The last thing he wanted to do was attempt to choke down something he knew should be delicious in front of an audience. Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand. A question. Bucky squeezed back in answer; he’d be okay with Clint for a couple minutes. Steve trusted him enough to leave Bucky, after all. A few seconds after Steve walked away, Bucky felt the blond’s posture shift and panic sparked in the back of his mind. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you. I just wanna put it out there while Cap’s gone that if there’s anything you want to talk about and can’t say to him about all this, you can tell me. I won’t say a word. Anything mentioned stays between us. Promise.”

The sincerity in Clint’s tone rattled something in Bucky’s chest, but the comfort was quickly smothered by guilt and doubt. “Why?”

“Because I figure there’s probably a buncha stuff Cap wouldn’t get. Not that he wouldn’t try, but it’s different when someone knows what you’ve been through.”

“No. Why are you doing this?” Bucky asked, gesturing. “The coffee, the talking, the being nice. You don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything.”

He set down his coffee, narrowing his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you. Do you like dogs?” he asked, perfectly serious.

“Uh, yes?” Bucky answered, taken aback but the change in subject.

“Great. I have a dog. Name’s Lucky. Loves pizza. How do you feel about pizza?”

“I don’t recall eating it. I hear good things.” What the hell was happening?

“Excellent. You probably haven’t been cleared to go back to the range, but if you wanna, I’m always up for target practice.” Clint shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? I don’t have a reason to not like you, and if you want me to be straight, I wish I’d had someone other than a therapist to talk about this shit with. No one gets it. So if you need someone, I’m here.”

Bucky went back to studying his coffee. Steve had said _Clint_ had asked to meet him. If it had been Steve’s idea, he’d have said, which meant _Clint_ was here willingly. This was an offer, a mutual understanding.

Bucky debated saying no. He didn’t want to talk to the therapist, why would he talk to some guy he’d met twenty minutes ago?

But Steve trusted Clint. It might be worth it to make the effort. 

Instead of saying no, he said, “Thank you.” He hoped he sounded like he meant it.

Steve slid back into his chair, bringing along a plate of pastries. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek when Bucky arched a quizzical brow at him. “Couldn’t decide.” He set the plate in the middle. Bucky knew he’d pushed the plate toward _him_ on purpose. Bucky nudged it closer to Clint. He caught Clint eyeing one of the cookies, but he made no move to claim it. Steve picked up a chocolate croissant, tearing off the end and holding it out to Bucky, his expression pleading.

With a sigh, Bucky took the pastry and set it on his tongue. Like most things, it tasted ashy and stale, but he swallowed it without issue. Steve bit at the rest and didn’t try to bribe him with more. Thank god.

If Clint noticed, he kept quiet. Instead, he snatched that cookie from the plate. “Just what I need to accompany 400 calories of coffee deliciousness,” he said. 

An awkward silence settled over them. Bucky sipped at the rest of his mocha. It really was good. Clint seemed okay; he should give the guy a chance. After all, it _would_ be nice to just talk and not have to explain the wreckage Hydra left in his head.

“You live in the city?” he asked.

“Bed-Stuy,” Clint said, nodding.

“Who’d have thought people would actually want to live in Brooklyn,” Steve added, gently rocking against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Finding an apartment was hell.”

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean. I kinda accidentally became the temporary landlord of my building after a row with these mafia bros. They were up to some shady business, and technically I bought the building outright. I didn’t want to be the super though but I guess I’m kinda stuck. Anyway, they haven’t learned not to futz with me yet and last week they tried to kill me. Again.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Draculas, man. They got in one good shot,” he said, pointing to his bandaged nose and fading black eye, “but I took ‘em out. Oh, that reminds me. Gotta get arrows on my way home.”

Steve tapped the croissant against the plate, the look of disapproval on his face pulling another grin out of Bucky. “Clint, we’re supposed to be staying under the radar.”

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but everything’s fine, Cap. No worries.”

“You can’t start fights on a whim,” Steve said, stern and unwavering.

Bucky snorted. Pulling rank wasn’t gonna work without the star-spangled getup. Even then, this was _Steve_ talking. “You, of all people, are lecturing Barton on not starting fights for fun?”

Steve pouted. “I’ve never started a fight for fun.”

He leveled a flat stare. Steve knew exactly how many fights he’d started because he just couldn’t help himself. “You’re a filthy fucking liar.”

“Language, Buck,” Steve said, but he couldn’t hide the edges of his grin. This felt good. This felt normal.

“Didn’t start the fight,” Clint said. “Sure as hell finished it, though. It’s not like they didn’t deserve it. I took their building _and_ their dog. Seriously, what kinda monster throws a dog into traffic?”

Most of the memories Bucky had were of back alley brawls and fixing Steve up after. From the sound of it, Clint and Steve had a lot in common. Bucky snatched the rest of the croissant from Steve, tore off a section and popped it into his mouth. Getting it down was a little easier, and Steve practically _beamed_ at him. If the reward for choking down food was seeing Stevie smile, Bucky was gonna have to try harder in the future.

Apparently, the mafia guys made an attempt on Clint’s life every couples months or so, making “staying under the radar” a bit more challenging but on average, Clint was an easy-going guy. He bantered a bit more, and Bucky contented himself with listening to Clint ramble, nodding along or adding a yes, no, or brief comment. He felt himself drifting toward Steve, finally letting his head rest on Steve’s shoulder. Being outside had taken a toll on him.  
Steve put his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, knowing it was time to go. “This was great, Clint. Thanks. We gotta get home, but we should do this again.”

“Any time. You got my number.” Clint stood, offering his hand to Steve again. “Lemme know if you wanna grab a slice, Barnes. I know the best joint in town, or we can order in and sit on the couch and binge watch bad television.”

Bucky nodded, letting Steve help him to his feet. “I’ll text you when I get in so you have my number.”

“Aw, Cap, he’s totally better at technology then you are.”

“Bucky always did like science fiction and gadgets,” Steve teased. “We’ll see you later, Clint. C’mon, Buck. Let’s get home.”

Bucky offered Clint a small smile as they headed out, his arm circling Steve’s waist. Glancing back, he watched Clint polish off the rest of the pastries before tossing his paper cup in the trash. What a weird guy.

“I’m proud of you, Buck,” Steve said, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “I know that took a lot out of you.” He wrapped Bucky up for a moment, holding him close. “How’re you feeling?”

Bucky relaxed against him, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. Exhaustion hit him hard, but underneath, Bucky felt pretty damn good. “Thanks for taking me out,” he said. “Today was a good day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And you know what?”

“What?”

He tilted his head up, brushing a kiss against Steve’s lips. “I think I’m gonna like that guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am spoiling you guys, I know. What can I say? I write fic when I'm stressed.
> 
> Bucky's newfound coffee of choice is lovingly in reference to Owlet's amazing series, This You Protect.


End file.
